“Ich finde, daß daS Glück zu einem kleinen Schlage, den eS unS versetzen will, oft erschrecklich weit ausholt. Man sollte glauben, es wolle uns zerschmettern, und hat uns am Ende nichts, als eine Mücke auf d« Stirne lotgeschlagen.”
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim. (1859). G.E. Lessing's Gesammelte Werke. Göschen.
__________
With both speed and luck uncharacteristic to Jacob up to this point in his life, the boy-in-the-body-of-a-bug narrowly escaped certain death at the hands of his own mother and, with a panic-driven rush of insect wings escaped back outside through the very portal that had claimed one-fifth of his arthropod limbs.
“At least I'm still alive!” he wheezed.
Behind him, Jacob could still hear the telltale “wheeze – pause – wheeze” that indicated mom was recklessly spraying prodigious amounts of chemical toxins in the air surrounding the window. She was a relentless woman, defending her home territory from the inevitable seasonal invasion of obnoxious vermin, such as Jacob himself in this case. She'd stop at nothing to protect her family from the nuisance poised by creepy pests, just like Jacob.
“No point trying to get back in that way,” he muttered. “I guess I should at least be glad I got away alive. But still – what's the point in surviving a close call like that if I have to spend the rest of my life trapped as a little bug?”
Jacob mused for amount on just how long the natural lifespan of a ladybug even was.
He quickly tabled the topic, unwilling to mentally pursue the likely answer.
Landing on the meaty, green stalk of a healthy tomato plant in the garden, Jacob considered his options.
At least he was alive (for the moment). But life as an insect was simply too perilous. He couldn't remain this way for long. Already autumn was upon them, and even if the other bugs of the garden were unaware of the sinister fact, winter was coming, to steal a phrase. Neither Jacob nor any of the invertebrates of the leaf litter were likely to survive the coming ice and snow. Most of them were likely now furiously mating and laying eggs in hopes a future generation could hatch in the spring, he figured.
“Not a particularly attractive option, I'm afraid,” he muttered to himself, mandibles clacking away sadly. “Especially given that I'm a female bug at the moment.”
So what other options were there? He'd tried (and failed) to get indoors. Sure, he could sally forth and make another attempt tomorrow maybe. But already, in the short couple of moments they'd spent in one another's corporeal forms, the ladybug and Jacob had both displayed a disturbing ability to quickly assimilate the instinctive habits and memories of one another. The beetle was now talking and convincingly impersonating Jacob. And meanwhile, Jacob himself had shown a frighteningly adept instinctive ability to both fly and evade predators (or at least, angry mothers armed with bug spray). Who knew how far gone the two of them would be by morning? Jacob might not even want to trade back by then. If the pace of mental regression continued, he might find himself happily chewing on aphids, mating with male bugs, and laying clutches of eggs in the morning – content to die off this winter, knowing he'd mother a whole new generation of larvae for next season.
“No!” he shuddered. “I can't do that.”
Besides which, he thought miserably. I might not attract a mate very easily, now that I'm missing a leg.
So – what options were there?
He contemplated his pathetically meager choices for a moment, wondering in the meantime just what his doppelgänger was getting up to inside the house.
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